False Finality
by vampassassin
Summary: Prelude to 'Challenge'. After Yassen triggers a lethal chain of events after realizing someone in Scorpia is lying about the 1 thing that matters to him, he has to cope with the ghosts of his past whilst struggling with his growing depression & drug abuse
1. Chapter 1

**Well, this is the account of what Yassen does between Eagle Strike and my story, Challenge, as promised. The beginning is a bit dodgy I reckon, but you never know, you may find it worthwhile.**

**Chapter One, The Final Words**

He didn't have the benefit of immediate death. No, his was a long, agonising drawn out fate and he realized that in reality, that had been the case for years. Death would have been a mercy, but it was denied to him.

Instead, he felt the brutal, rib shattering impact of the bullet in his chest as he stood before the madman that had been his employer. Then, the bruising fall, that inevitable collapse to a hard floor. He had maybe a split second to absorb the two faces. The first, a manically grinning older face. The other punctuated by wide, brown eyes with fear in them. Then, as he hit the ground, it began.

Fire burning white hot and lethally in his chest like a superheated knife. He felt like breaking every rule of self-control and screaming as countless others had screamed at his hands, but the sheer intensity of the pain devoured any air in his lungs, leaving him soundlessly gasping for air instead.

He tried taking in air, his brain registering for the first time the blood everywhere (_his_ blood everywhere), and the fact that there was no possibility of survival…

'_Stop!' _He thought vehemently, _'Don't…Don't think about that now…Just breathing is all that's important…'_

Then a horrible realization struck him. He couldn't breathe because blood was welling in his throat, and to his horror, he could feel it trickling from his mouth. For a second, the unfamiliar sensation of sheer panic dragged him down. He would choke, he would-

-No! He refused to die that way. He was not going to die choking on the ground. The panic still writhed within though, and it fuelled the agony that was smothering him. He slowly pushed the fear away and tried to think straight.

'_What condition am I in?' _He wondered weakly. Although he was in too much pain to register much beyond the blood and the faint yelling, he knew that at the rate he was bleeding out, it couldn't be good. For a moment, the panic peaked again but he pushed it away. He concentrated on trying to cough up the blood that was clogging his throat up again.

That simple action was almost the end of him. The tsunami of pain that crashed over him was enough to render him unconscious for a few moments.

* * *

When consciousness returned, the sight that greeted him was nearly enough to wake him wish he was still out cold. The world was a chaos of exploding jet engines, a boy's yelling and suddenly, 40 degree sloped floors. Looking around vaguely made him remember that he was on Air Force One; he'd killed the guards and crew to get everyone onboard.

Then, as the engine was totally obliterated, the plane lurched wildly, causing the entire aircraft to tilt down and then, disastrously, the undercarriage disintegrated and the plane came smashing the short distance back down to Earth.

There was no reaction time, just a split second of seeing a bulkhead rush up to meet him.

He thought that maybe he did scream then, but if he did, the hoarse, throat burning sound was lost in the noise of the crash. It felt like the world was ending.

And then he believed it did. The plane came to an unwieldy stop and a moment of crystal clarity enveloped him as surely as the sudden silence did. He was going to die. He had to do something first.

He managed to prop himself up against the bulkhead, shaking from the effort. He hoped he had strength enough for what he needed to do.

He looked around, silently fearful that what would greet him would be the sight of Alex's broken body, damaged beyond repair by the debris that had been thrown around dangerously in the crash.

There! Alex lay sprawled on the floor, barely conscious. He looked broken for sure, but no fatally injured.

He felt a wave of relief. He managed to take a breath in and speak.

"Alex."

Alex looked up slowly, looking battered. An expression of fear and miserable consignment crossed the boy's face. Alex thought he was going to hurt him.

He panicked anew, Alex wouldn't come! He _had_ to get Alex to; Alex _needed_ to hear what he had to say!

So, he tried again. It was harder this time; he felt the void shimmering at his edges.

"Please."

Alex's expression flickered. There was curiosity and even pity there now.

'_**Please**__ let him come…He needs to hear this…'_

Then, he nearly passed out from sheer relief as Alex gingerly crawled over, obviously in pain.

First things first.

"What happened to Cray?"

Alex's lips twitched.

"He went off his trolley."

He was confused by that, the blood loss and bullet wound was making it difficult for him to think straight.

"He's dead?" He asked.

Alex looked withdrawn and haunted now.

"Very."

He would have smiled, but all he could manage was a small, satisfied nod.

"I knew it was a mistake working for him," He said quietly, "I knew."

For a second, he couldn't breathe again and he had to squint to compensate for his failing vision. After a brief struggle, he caught his breathe again. He felt an odd unease now; he'd reached the point where he had to tell Alex what he needed to hear quickly.

"There is something I have to tell you," he said, trying to form what he said next in his head.

Alex just stared at him, blank expression offering no assistance. He gave in on trying to beat around the bush and adopted the blunt manner that suited him much better.

"I couldn't kill you," he was losing the control he'd exerted over himself all his life now. His emotions were trickling into his words. "I would never have killed you."

And then, the point of no return.

"Because you see Alex… I knew your Father."

"What?" Shock and fear crossed Alex's face and he wondered if he was doing the right thing. But then he remembered that day, fifteen years ago in the Amazon when all he'd been was Cossack. His resolve strengthened.

"Your Father. He and I…" His chest was burning, he had to catch his breath. "We worked together."

Alex froze and perhaps the realization was dawning on him because a new fear was crossing the boy's face.

"He worked with you?"

He nodded his head weakly.

"Yes."

A faint hope flickered across Alex's bruised and scratched face.

"You mean… He was a spy?"

He wondered why he felt so bad taking that hope away from Alex.

"Not a spy, no, Alex. He was a killer. Like me. He was the very best. The best in the world. I knew him when I was nineteen. He taught me many things-"

"No!" Alex looked angry now, "I don't believe you, my father wasn't a killer. He couldn't have been!"

'_Why would I lie about this Alex? Why?'_

"I'm telling you the truth. You have to know." He replied patiently despite the knowledge that his time was running out.

Still Alex desperately clung to vain hope.

"Did he work for MI6?"

"No." The boy's desperation brought a sad smile to his lips. "MI6 hunted him down. They killed him. They tried to kill us both. At the last moment I escape, but he…"

He felt blood rising at the back of his throat again, so he swallowed in order to speak. This was important now.

"They killed your Father Alex."

"No!"

"Why would I lie to you?" he asked, weakly reaching for Alex's arm. "Your Father… he did this."

And he traced the old scar on his throat. His hand fell to the floor and he knew with a cold certainty that these were his final moments, his final words. He suddenly wished he had something more meaningful then a fifteen year old story.

"We were in the Amazon… he saved my life. In a way, I loved him. And you, Alex, are so very much like him. I'm glad that you're here with me now."

The pain was back now, devouring him like flames. Although he didn't show it, he was afraid. He'd though that he'd accepted his inevitable death, but he realized now that no one could truly accept their end. Some small, deeply buried part would always protest against the end of existence. It was the nature of being human. Worried he wouldn't finish in time, he used the last of his strength to deliver the most important message.

"And if you don't believe me, go to Venice."

'_I've never been in so much pain…I have to finish though…'_

"Find Scorpia."

'_Alex has to understand…How important…this is…'_

It took every single morsel of his strength to deliver what he knew to be his last words.

"And you will find your destiny."

He just had a second to see the confusion and mingled sadness on Alex's face before he gratefully closed his eyes and gave into the void that pulled at him.

The last thing Yassen Gregorovich remembered was the sensation of relief and an abandoned burden.

'_Alex understands now.'_

* * *

**Well, it wasn't much but I'd still like to hear what you guys think :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Yes I know this chapter is a bit boring, I'm sorry. Things slowly pick up though, you just need to wait for the next chappie when Yassen's back on Malagosto.**

**Disclaimer: Nyet. No. Non. Nein.**

* * *

**Chapter Two, Medical Misdemeanours**

He'd hoped against hope from the instant that Cray pulled the trigger that his would be a quick, painless death, but it wasn't to be.

The pain wouldn't _end_. It was like a white-hot knife was embedded in his heart and every breath he took caused it to twist savagely.

And then it slowly dawned on him. Breathing? Dead men didn't breathe. But he _knew_ he was dead.

Did he? Dead men couldn't think, he shouldn't be able to acknowledge the fact he was breathing. He shouldn't be able to acknowledge anything. It meant…It meant he wasn't dead.

Yassen managed to open his eyes for a second. An unfamiliar face shimmered overhead amidst a haze. A paramedic? He heard the voices as if they were miles away.

"_Catastrophic bleeding…How is this happening? Fluids goddamn it!! Oxygen…Try some compression too…"_

Yassen didn't understand what was going on. He closed his eyes again and for a few minutes, lost consciousness.

* * *

He didn't recall waking again. The next thing he knew he was on a stretcher and there were more unfamiliar faces around him. They jostled the stretcher as they carried it out of the ruined plane.

The movement caused the metaphoric knife to slam down hard in his chest. Every nerve ending burned.

Yassen knew he was screaming, he could hear himself, but he couldn't help it. The pain was overwhelming, beyond his comprehension, he-

"_Jesus Christ! He's going to kill himself if you don't hold him down!"_

He gratefully passed out again.

* * *

Waking wasn't so easy this time. Yassen had to fight every second to stay conscious and to keep the pain down.

"_He's conscious again…How the hell is he doing this? Why isn't he dead?! Maybe the morphine…?"_

Eyes slowly opening, Yassen realized he was in an ambulance. He weakly looked around, struggling to keep his eyes open and not to pass back out.

There were two people with him: a younger, amazed looking paramedic and an older, dark eyed man who surveyed Yassen with a detached curiosity. Yassen thought the older man must be MI6. He carried a gun in a shoulder holster.

Yassen faintly wondered if he could speak. He realized that there was an oxygen mask over his face. It made his skin crawl, so he weakly tried to push it off his face.

Both the MI6 agent and the paramedic jumped.

"Holy shit! He's awake!" The paramedic muttered. The MI6 agent shot him a look and then looked back down at Yassen.

"Can you hear me?" The man sounded Welsh.

Yassen nodded slowly, trying to keep up with everything that was happening around him.

"Well, listen to me then," the man said brusquely, "You're barely capable of breathing on your own right now. You could die if you take the mask off. Do you understand?"

Yassen nodded again groggily, taking his hand away from his face. He felt utterly spent, like his limbs each weighed a ton.

"You're being taken to an MI6 clinic," the man continued, "You'll go into surgery if you survive the trip."

Yassen ignored that last part and worked up the strength and focus for speech.

"I wouldn't count on that," He said faintly but surely, "I'm fairly certain we won't be getting that far."

For a split second, the MI6 agent looked puzzled. Then, horror shot through his expression as he saw the truth in Yassen's eyes. He quickly raised his radio.

"Code red, there's an ambu-"

The rest of his words were lost in the explosion of a hellfire missile detonating the lead car of the convoy. There was a burst of flame and Yassen braced himself as the sound of screeching tired and shattering metal followed.

Unable to stop in time, the ambulance skidded wildly and crashed sideways into the military jeep in front of them. Yassen resisted the urge to yell in pain as he thumped into the side of the ambulance. The rear doors of the ambulance were torn off in the crash.

Suddenly, machine guns opened fire.

And then, Yassen saw it. The helicopter, a Eurocopter EC 135, modified for Scorpia requirements, swooped from the sky like a malicious bird of prey. The specially added 50 cal guns returned fire and obliterated the trucks and infantry below it with a savage ease. Another explosion went off. It seemed that one of the men on the chopper had a Grenade Launcher. Yassen smiled.

Looking around again, he realized that the paramedic had been knocked out cold by the crash and his guard had either been thrown out of the ambulance, or had left to help in the fight. He was alone.

Yet another explosion went off, this time close enough to rock the ambulance. Yassen decided he'd live longer outside the metal confines of this vehicle.

So, he tried sitting up.

Immediately, the world spun and his chest screamed in protest. Yassen slumped against the stretcher in pain.

Panting from exertion, Yassen gritted his teeth and sat up, repelling unconsciousness by willpower alone. He would _not_ give in, not now.

However, standing was still the hardest thing Yassen had ever done, to the best of his memory. Removing the oxygen mask, he staggered unsteadily to his feet. The world quaked nauseatingly and his vision kept fading in and out. There was no use trying to describe the pain in his chest and his breath was a series of hoarse, laborious gasps.

Then, another RPG detonated nearby and there was a scream. Yassen quickly decided three things:

Number One, He refused to die trapped by his own weakness in this goddamn ambulance

Number Two, As good an idea as assigning a recon and ambush team to this job had been, Yassen needed to teach them something about subtlety

Number Three, he was going to force himself into walking, bullet wound or not. He refused to be found lying pathetically on the stretcher. Pride be damned, but he would be found outside in the midst of things like the soldier Scorpia had trained him to be. Like John had trained him to be.

So, Yassen clenched his fists and pushed himself of the wall. The world turned into an agonising haze, he stumbled out of the ambulance, barely able to breathe.

His arm shot up, he hadn't realized he had an IV in it. Without hesitation, Yassen ripped it out, ignoring the fresh wound that created.

Swaying, Yassen looked around him. The motorway was littered with burning wrecks and bodies; the MI6 convoy was all but gone. The chopper overhead suddenly veered to the right, cornering three SAS men who were seeking cover behind a shattered Land Cruiser. One of them turned and saw Yassen standing near the ambulance. He opened his mouth to shout a warning to his comrades, but the chopper's 50 cal gun tore him and his friends to pieces before he could make a single sound.

The chopper hovered overhead now; Yassen was forced to his knees by the powerful downdraft. He winced as smoke and other debris was blown in his face and the downdraft battered him.

Fighting for his breath, Yassen could only watch as the chopper lowered itself to the ground. One of the men onboard climbed out and ran towards him.

Yassen recognized the man, he was known as Nile. He was one of the most prominent members of Scorpia and Yassen hated the man.

Nile came to an abrupt halt in front of him, eyes widening at the sight of Yassen kneeling on the tarmac, covered in blood. The team hadn't known what to expect, they'd thought Yassen was merely captured and not nearly killed. Nile turned on his heel and yelled something indistinct at the chopper. Another person, a woman this time, sprinted over. She took one look at Yassen and quickly opened a Velcro-sealed bag that hung at her waist.

A needle was produced. The woman was obviously the team medic then.

"I'm going to give you a shot of morphine!" She yelled over the sound of the chopper, grabbing Yassen by the arm.

He managed to fight his way free, although the effort caused him to reel, darkness closing in for a moment. He nearly passed out, but Nile supported him and began dragging him towards the chopper.

"We need to go!" He yelled, "SAS reinforcements are on their way!"

The medic was back, needle poised. Yassen tried pushing her away, but the effort was beyond him.

"I don't need it!" He snarled. Whilst he definitely wanted the relief from the pain, Yassen couldn't take another shot of morphine as MI6 had already given him more then he strictly needed of the drug. The problem was though, the medic obviously didn't think he was going to survive much longer; she was trying to grant him a painless death.

Well, he wasn't dead yet and Yassen had decided that wasn't going to change any time soon. He'd thought that he was ready to die, but he'd been wrong. He wasn't going to give up now. He was going to fight.

It was obvious that the medic either didn't believe him or didn't understand though, so Yassen tried again.

"I've already…Been given some," He gasped, "You're going to send me into respiratory depression like this!"

It was no use though; neither the medic nor Nile could hear him over the sound of the propellers.

"Give him a sedative as well!" Nile shouted at the medic as he helped Yassen into the chopper.

"N-no!" Yassen rasped, voice fading into the background. His breathing dissolved into a bout of coughing. He panicked anew as he realized he was coughing up blood still.

"Hold him still!" The medic ordered Nile, leaning over Yassen with the needle in hand, "He's going to go into shock!"

Yassen felt Nile holding his shoulders down. One of the others, the man with the Grenade Launcher, did his best to pin the Russian's arms down.

Yassen tried desperately to fight them off. He knew that the MI6 paramedics had already given him morphine along with God knew what else. His body wouldn't be able to take anything more and he'd always had a low tolerance for any sort of drug in the first place.

"Stop!" He wanted to scream, "You'll kill me goddamn it!" Instead, he just fought harder, trying to show them his wrist so they'd _see_ that he'd been hooked up to an IV only moments before.

And then, he was free. The man holding his arms saw the wound on Yassen's wrist and went pale. He turned to face the other's.

"Stop!" He screamed, "He-"

Too late. At the same time the needle emptied itself into Yassen's neck. The medic heard the shout and removed the needle which was only half full, but it was too little, too late.

"You _idiot_!" Nile snarled at the medic, "What the hell were you _thinking_?! _Were_ you thinking?!"

The medic snarled back at Nile, eyes furious.

"He was and still is in considerable pain! I didn't see!"

Nile just shook his head angrily and turned back to look at Yassen.

The Russian had managed to prop himself up against some indistinguishable piece of machinery. He was obviously livid if his glare was anything to go by. His breathing was shallow and laboured and Nile saw that he was still bleeding heavily; there was blood everywhere. They were all covered in it.

"I'll go into…a respiratory depression and cardiac arrest…Give me adrenalin to fix it…" Was all the Russian said though.

Nile frowned, medicine was beyond him. He turned to look at the medic.

She looked thoughtful.

"The morphine sedative compound will probably kill him," she muttered, "It'll send him into a respiratory depression followed by cardiac arrest and die. However, there's a slim chance that if we wait until he burns a safe amount of what's already in his system off, we can get him out of cardiac arrest with a shot of adrenalin or even a defibrillator."

Amazed that the Russian had figured all that out so quickly in the condition he was in, Nile looked back over at Yassen sharply.

The Russian was out cold. Nile could just see Yassen's chest rise and fall, proving that he was breathing. The medic took his pulse.

"There's a good chance this won't work," she said grimly, packing her equipment up, "His pulse is dangerously slow as it is without us pumping him full of drugs."

The third man, an ex-IRA member named Stevie Bunding looked angry.

"Then give him the adrenalin now damn it!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

The medic clenched her fists furiously.

"I can't!" She hissed, "He's already over the safe limit on at least three potent drugs, one more will kill him outright! I presume you don't want that on your head!"

Stevie opened his mouth to reply, but Nile cut in abruptly.

"If he dies," The man said in a softly dangerous tone, "Then you'll be the one who pays the price, not us. Understand that?"

The medic paled, but nodded never the less.

"Alright," She muttered, "But I still can't give it to him now. This way he has at least a small chance of survival."

Stevie didn't argue further, choosing to sit down stiffly and glare at her.

"Rothman will be pissed." Was all he said.

* * *

The chopper wouldn't have had nearly enough fuel to transport them all the way to Italy, or more specifically, Venice, so they had to make a short stop at a Scorpia airstrip to move to a plane before continuing their journey.

Then, over the English Channel, it happened. Yassen had been hooked up to a heart monitor and it suddenly blared out an alarm.

"Goddamn it!" The medic sprung up, reaching for one the needles already prepared, "He's going into cardiac arrest and it's too soon!"

Nile stayed back, edgily watching the medic try to stabilize Yassen.

"What do you mean it's too soon?" He demanded.

The medic didn't look up.

"He hasn't worked enough of what's in his system off yet! He needs at least another half hour!"

Nile scowled at her.

"Well you can see we don't have half an hour. Give him the fucking adrenalin now!"

The medic looked at the heart monitor.

"There's a high risk of death or permanent damage if I-"

Nile stood furiously and bruisingly grabbed the woman by the arm.

"Give it to him now or I'll do it myself!"

The medic yanked her arm free and shot Nile a filthy look. Then, she did as she was ordered.

* * *

**Cue dramatic music and fadeout**

**Not great I know... I'll update with a better chapter soon though!**

**TTFN from vampassassin**


	3. Chapter 3

**I was quite nervous about this chapter, I thought it might not be received well etc etc, but I'm happy to update now! My heartfelt thanks go out to DIBAW for betaing this chapter for me!! **

**I did my best with the medical details on this one, but I apologise in advance for any mistakes I made ..'**

**And just a warning, this chappie has drug scenes and is kinda long. Enjoy anyway though!!**

* * *

**Chapter Three, Lucky**

Yassen knew he should consider himself lucky, but in reality, he was seething.

They'd nearly killed him! Through sheer stupidity no less! The morphine-sedative overdose had sent him into a respiratory depression which in turn had caused him to go into cardiac arrest. And then, even more infuriatingly, the medic's delay in delivering the adrenalin meant that it had taken an extra day and two further doses of adrenalin to wake him. The end result of all this being he was caught now in the Malagosto clinic.

Yassen resisted the urge to angrily punch the wall or some other painfully solid object out of pure frustration. He'd been here for two and a half weeks now. He'd been into surgery twice and had been labelled 'an official miracle'. Fan-bloody-tastic. He just wanted out of the clinic.

At least the medic had been punished. Nearly killing their top operative meant that Scorpia ensured her slow, painful death. Although he wasn't naturally sadistic (to the everlasting surprise of many), Yassen wished he'd been the one delivering her death. He didn't suffer fools gladly and especially not when it was his life at stake.

"You're still pissed off?"

Yassen turned away from the window he was looking out slowly, trying to clamp down on his moodiness.

Ashley Gunwale was a man who took his unfortunately chosen first name with good humour. However, that humour trembled slightly when Ashley found himself pinned with a flat, angry stare.

"Wouldn't you be?" Yassen replied nastily, "Given the circumstances?"

Ashley frowned.

"You're going to be discharged any day now, you healed after the surgeries and you haven't had any setbacks. You should consider yourself-"

"-Lucky?" Yassen demanded, "Lucky I was shot in the first place? Lucky my team nearly killed me by sending me into cardiac arrest? Or lucky because I have not, in fact, healed properly and now have to attend Physical Therapy for Christ knows how long as well as probably take medication for the rest of my natural life; which, by the way, seems to have been shortened rather noticeably by that stupid woman…"

Ashley looked disturbed now.

"They killed Gabrielle," He said, sounding almost menacing, "That was your fault."

Yassen sneered at the other man, obviously considering him no threat.

"I forgot, you slept with her regularly."

Ashley stood suddenly and stalked up to Yassen.

"That's not the point!" He growled, "The point is that you're a cold-hearted, selfish bastard."

"What do you expect?" Yassen demanded angrily, "That I'm not really the most wanted contract killer in the world? That I just pretend to be and inside, I'm really a good person? Or perhaps you're under the impression Scorpia is just a social drinking club where we're all just friends who sometimes kill people for a laugh. What's wrong with you?"

Ashley folded his heavily muscled arms across his chest.

"I'm not stupid, no matter what you think. I know perfectly well what you are, what I am. However, even monsters are able to live and love. Not you though, and that's my point. What are you when even the definition of 'monster' is too restrained a description for your nature? You're something far worse then anything Scorpia has ever seen and it pisses me off that you have to inflict your toxic character on the rest of us. Even John Rider-"

There was a thump as Ashley was suddenly slammed up against the wall. The back of his head cracked loudly against the glass pane and he cursed in pain.

"Don't." Yassen said quietly, with utterly cold and merciless eyes, "If you value your miserable life, don't mention that name to me. Not now, and preferably not ever. Understand?"

Ashley looked at him maliciously.

"You're shaking."

Yassen narrowed his eyes and considered punching Ashley's face in. However, he didn't. The man was right, he was shaking violently from exertion and he was having trouble breathing. His chest hurt too. Unwillingly, Yassen let go of Ashley and took an uncertain step back. He rubbed his chest absently.

A different look shot across Ashley's face. Alarm.

"I'll get the nurse."

Yassen gave Ashley a glance that was half annoyance, half disbelief.

"What? Why?"

Ashley shook his head.

"You're white."

Yassen coughed painfully into his hand, silently praying he wasn't bringing up blood again.

"Really?" He asked Ashley sarcastically, "I thought I was just a blonde haired, blue eyed African." He discreetly peered at his hand, disguising the gesture as him pinching the bridge of his nose.

'_Shit… Bringing up blood again…'_

Ashley was starting to look worried.

"You know what I mean," he replied, "And your lips are going blue as well."

'_That's because I'm coughing so hard I can't breathe, you idiot…'_

"I'm…fine!" Yassen managed, trying to force his point through sheer ferocity.

Ashley shook his head firmly.

"You're coughing up blood," he pointed to Yassen's hand, "Again."

'_I'd rather hoped he wouldn't notice that…'_

"I am fine!" Yassen repeated himself, closing his eyes for a moment when the world threatened to fade away into an aching black haze. He sat down on the edge of his bed gingerly.

It was no use; Ashley was ignoring him as he always did. Yassen heard one of the nurses come in and shoot off in rapid-fire Italian. He couldn't help but grin slightly when Ashley was kicked out of the room like a plague carrying rat. The man had been poisoned four days ago, and was healthy enough now to be left alone for a few minutes.

" Che cosa allora è errato? "

Yassen opened his eyes and surveyed the nurse in front of him sardonically.

"Nothing, never better." He replied, forcing the nurse to speak English. He was capable of speaking basic Italian, but he hated it. If he could have his way, it would be Russian, English or nothing at all and when it came to people like nurses, shop assistants and other persons he considered 'irritating', it was preferably 'nothing at all'.

The nurse looked at him sarcastically.

"Apparently you were coughing up blood again. That, Mr. Gregorovich, is not 'nothing'."

Yassen smiled in a thin, humourless manner.

"Well, since you're the medical expert, does that mean I should tell you the pain meds stopped working an hour ago?"

The nurse frowned at him.

"You're due for another dose anyway. You know what to do."

Yassen pressed his lips together grimly and after rolling his sleeve up, held out his arm. The nurse gave him an injection and then packed everything away whilst Yassen rolled his sleeve back down.

"My chest was hurting too," Yassen said distractedly, looking out the window at the firing range, "And I'm still not breathing properly."

The nurse looked tired. Or maybe was sympathy. Yassen didn't know and quite frankly, he didn't care. As self-indulgent as it was, he just wanted to be left alone to sulk.

"We don't know how long that'll last," she said flatly, "It could be permanent. Remember, you shouldn't even be alive; a lot of damage was done. Not to mention the bullet's impact might have injured your respiratory system. Try not to exert yourself."

Yassen raised a brow quizzically and the nurse scowled.

"That includes not beating up other patients," She said grumpily, "I know what you just did to Ashley."

Frustrated, Yassen didn't say anything else. The nurse shook her head and left. He felt trapped, like there was an axe waiting to fall over his head and he knew why he felt that way. He was supposed to meet Julia Rothman in an hour's time.

* * *

Stevie Collinson had been right about one thing: Mrs. Rothman _was_ pissed off.

And had been from the start. She hated it when agents became involved in assignments outside of Scorpia control. It was too unpredictable and the risk to agents was increased tenfold. The whole affair with Cray was only proof of that.

Julia had disliked Cray from the beginning; he'd struck her as unstable and absurdly immature from their first meeting. She'd known there would be trouble getting involved with him.

Unfortunately, the other Board Executives hadn't listened to her; they'd been too tempted by the 20 million dollars they'd make from hiring out Scorpia personnel to Cray. To make matters worse, they'd recommended Yassen for the job as it was the only major assignment going on at the time and they'd wanted someone experienced to ensure they got their money.

The thing about that idea that had upset Julia was the idiocy of it. You didn't risk your best people in operations like this; you kept them for strictly inside organization assignments only!

So she'd tried Yassen himself next, despite her instinctive uneasiness around the Russian. Failure met her there too. To his credit, Yassen had listened closely and had seemed a little uneasy himself, but in the end he'd still decided to accept the assignment. He was powerful enough in Scorpia to do that now: pick and choose his own assignments.

And as Julia Rothman had predicted, his decision had turned out to be a bad one. It was very nearly a fatal one. She'd become the real life definition of 'kill the messenger' when she'd heard that Cray had shot and almost killed Yassen.

However, there was a fair amount of scheming going on at the same time. Julia valued Yassen's skills, not his life. As soon as she'd heard what had happened, Julia had set her mind to considering replacements in case Yassen died and more importantly, to damage control.

She knew about Alex. His closeness (both literally and figuratively) to Yassen put her on edge, she worried about what the Russian might have said. Truth be told, Julia didn't know how much Yassen knew about John Rider and his involvement with Scorpia. If the Russian only knew what Julia had spread, then Alex could be used. If Yassen knew the truth though and decided to use it…

Well, the bottom line was that Julia Rothman needed to have a discussion with Yassen Gregorovich.

So that was why she'd made the decision to fly back to Malagosto. It had caused a fair amount of stir; she _never_ came to the island for security reasons. Her scheduling a meeting with Yassen more or less as soon as he was able to talk without passing out didn't bode well with most either.

* * *

Julia Rothman had originally arranged to come see him in the clinic, but Yassen's pride had quickly put a stop to that. He didn't trust Julia; he'd talk with her somewhere where he was on even ground with her. Unfortunately, the only location that matched his criteria was Oliver D'Arc's office and he was a close ally of Julia's. At the same time however, Yassen knew it would have to do.

As he walked towards the room, Yassen considered his position within Scorpia. He appreciated the benefits of his power, but the power plays and cloak and dagger he had to engage in to keep his position seemed hardly worth the effort. In all honesty, these sorts of actions were really only meant to apply to Board Executives, but he was unofficially a part of the Board anyway. Yassen found it interesting that he should be go through all the motions of being an Executive without ever having to actually assume the position.

Realizing that while he'd been reflecting on this, his feet had guided him to his destination, Yassen focussed on the task at hand. He didn't hesitate or knock. Rather, he calmly but firmly pushed the office door open and strode in. At the back of his mind was the hope he wouldn't launch into one of his irritating and quite frankly embarrassing coughing-up-blood fits whilst he was here.

Julia looked up sharply from where she sat. To Yassen's disbelief, she wasn't alone. Oliver was sitting across from Julia. She'd tricked him! She'd gone along with his change of meeting places, but she'd compensated by bringing reinforcements!

'_Treacherous bitch!' _

Despite his annoyance though, Yassen kept his expression and tone cool and guarded.

"I wasn't aware that we were going to need a witness." He remarked evenly, barely glancing at Oliver as he spoke.

Julia narrowed her heavily mascara laden eyes, obviously recognizing Yassen's words for the subtle warning against ganging up on him they were. She recovered quickly though.

"Of course we don't," She smiled, "I was just discussing a different matter with Oliver and our conversation overlapped into our meeting time."

Yassen wasn't foolish enough or naïve enough to believe her obvious lie. However, he didn't call her on it; he turned to Oliver instead.

"I apologise for cutting your…discussion with Julia short. Perhaps you will be able to continue it after my meeting with her."

Yassen's dismissal was quite obviously meant to be insulting, but it was too subtle for either Oliver or Julia to confront him. Oliver exchanged a look with Julia before standing.

"Maybe." The Frenchman agreed coldly before leaving. The room seemed to go very still after he left.

Yassen turned back to Julia, already second-guessing her and gauging her every action with unnerving eyes. Neither Yassen nor Julia trusted the other, and it was obvious despite the polite manner in which they conducted business.

Julia broke the silence first.

"I'm amazed you're alive." She injected a false note of human interest into her voice.

Yassen raised a brow.

"I've been hearing that a lot. I heard you weren't particularly surprised by what happened."

Julia looked at the Russian appraisingly.

"If you remember correctly, I did attempt to warn you against working for Cray."

Yassen managed not to give the highly offensive reply he thinking.

"It seems your warning was well placed then." He said instead, not completely able to hide the stiffness in his words.

Julia looked smug, but didn't pursue the matter. Looking at the beautiful woman's nasty expression, Yassen decided he was finished with beating around the bush.

"Why did you ask to meet with me?" He asked flatly. He discreetly leaned back against the wall, still very weak and given to shaking from exhaustion. He hid it by folding his arms and tensing his shoulders.

Apparently Julia was done playing too. The two of them were like two predators, finished with the ritual of testing the waters and now bringing in the fangs and claws.

"I want to know what happened on Air Force One."

Yassen suddenly understood something he'd been wondering about.

"That's why I wasn't debriefed," He said disdainfully, "You wanted all the information first. I'd ask why that is, but I think I have a fairly good idea why."

Julia narrowed her eyes and Yassen was suddenly reminded of a hunted animal: vicious and unpredictable.

"Really?" She asked in tones of venomed honey, "And what would that be?"

Yassen considered his next words carefully. It was all touch and go; he had to give just enough to prompt her into giving up what he needed, but he had to be careful not to give too much himself.

"You had a source in Cray's organization. They told you about a boy, an Alex Rider and you know I spoke with him on Air Force One. You want to know what I said because you're hiding something. It's something you don't want me or Alex to know."

Julia's mask of calm slipped, Yassen saw the glinting, feral eyes and violent expression underneath. She regarded Yassen angrily, teeth bared from behind painted lips.

"What did you say to Alex?" She demanded, "Tell me!"

Yassen looked at her impassively, unimpressed by her outburst.

"No," He said flatly, "I'm not giving you anything. I'm not one of your pathetic puppets who nod and duck to your every order."

Julia stood furiously and abandoned any restraints she'd placed on her emotions.

"How dare you!" She snarled, "You will have placed Scorpia in immense danger if you've said the wrong thing to that MI6 lapdog brat! He's a serious threat to this organization!"

Yassen barely reacted to her tantrum, he shook his head slightly.

"Perhaps," he said, "But I'm more inclined to believe he's a threat to _you_, not Scorpia. And I don't believe I did anything wrong. What's more, I think you're lying through your teeth, that you're hiding something huge. It rather makes me wonder what lengths you'll go to in order to keep your secret."

Julia did her best to quash her temper.

"What did you say to Alex?" She asked more calmly, "I need to know. For both your sakes."

Yassen seemed to think that over for a moment.

"I think you are still lying," The Russian said steadily, "But I will tell you one thing: Alex is going to come looking for us. Knowing the boy, you'd best be prepared."

Julia froze, eyes widened.

"Us?" She repeated incredulously.

Yassen nodded slowly.

"He's going to come to Venice looking for something he knows only as 'Scorpia'."

Julia Rothman looked torn between sudden fear and a predatory sort of scheming.

"If Alex is coming here," Julia mused out loud, "You must have used something significant for bait. What would be so important to Alex that he'd come to a foreign country looking for a three syllable word?"

Yassen didn't say anything, barely trusting himself not to give anything away. He silently prayed Julia wouldn't guess correctly; he knew she'd find a way to manipulate Alex with that information if she did.

Then, Julia's beautiful face cleared and Yassen felt his hopes die.

"John Rider!" She hissed in realization, turning to stare at Yassen maliciously, "You used his _dead Father _to lure him here?!"

Yassen looked away grimly, inwardly cursing his underestimation of Julia. She smiled at him tauntingly.

"You're more cunning then I gave you credit for Yassen," She laughed, "You managed to figure out the _one_ thing that would guarantee Alex would come here. How very devious of you."

Yassen whipped around, furious.

"I didn't want him here for the same reasons you do!" Yassen burst out, glaring at Julia, "I don't want him here so you can use and manipulate him!"

Julia Rothman leaned forward, smothering Yassen in her expensive scent.

"You don't understand," She hissed, "There's a new operation starting soon, I'm in charge for it. I'll do whatever it takes to make a success of this and it just so happens I can use Alex to help me."

Yassen looked at the woman before him in disgust.

"You'll leave him alone!"

Julia pulled away and laughed delightedly.

"Correction, I'll do whatever I want."

Then, she swept out of Oliver D'Arc's office, leaving Yassen alone with his mounting guilt and horror.

* * *

Angry and worried about Alex, Yassen couldn't stand the thought of going back to the claustrophobic clinic. Instead, he headed towards the private room he had on the island. Not entirely sure whether or not he really wanted to go there, he walked in slow, measured steps that offered him the peace and solitude he was after.

As he walked along the edge of the courtyard, someone called his name. Hoping they would see he was in no mood for company and leave him alone, Yassen ignored it and kept going. To his annoyance however, he had no such luck. A woman came running up to him, blocking his path forward.

"I heard what happened." Was her greeting.

Yassen frowned, but then, Maya Rodriguez had never been one for formality or even general courtesy really. With her dark hair and eyes and Spanish heritage, Maya looked like a model, but was far from it. Loud and slightly crude, she seemed to be of the opinion 'the bigger the better' (Yassen was mature enough that he was able to consider the phrase in question _without_ his mind falling into the gutter…Mostly). The only thing that made her useful to Scorpia was her mastery of five languages, ballistic mechanics and skill in spearheading 'out of organization liaison'. Basically, she slept with men in other organizations and worked on infiltration from that point on.

"It seems like half of Malagosto has." Yassen muttered in response grumpily. He wondered whether he sounded as childish as he thought he did. Probably.

Maya didn't seem to notice however and grinned teasingly.

"Half of Malagosto hero-worships you," she pointed out, "Surviving certain death only intensifies that."

Yassen scowled at her, really wishing she'd leave him alone.

"Great." He grunted.

Maya frowned slightly, head titled to one side in an annoying little habit that was irking Yassen more then usual right now.

"Don't you like having such a huge amount of fame?"

Yassen's scowl deepened. Maya was very different to him in the respect that whilst he craved peace and separation from most people, she looked for attention in any form. She loved the dramatic and overdone. As far as Maya Rodriguez was concerned, life was all a big game. She was also known for being legendarily treacherous to the point of hysterical laughter or tears.

"I am an assassin," He replied, "Therefore Fame is not exactly a good thing. Fame would get me killed very, very quickly. So therefore, no, I do not like 'having such a huge amount of fame'. In fact, it really pisses me off. "

Maya smirked.

"Fair enough," she laughed, "I didn't leave demolition half way through to discuss your celebrity status anyway."

Yassen didn't relax.

"Why did you come to speak to me then?"

Maya's face fell slightly at his dead-end answer.

"Why wouldn't I?" She asked, sounding hurt.

Yassen could see very well where this conversation was heading. Truth be told, it was one he'd been trying to bring up for awhile now. Whilst it was probably not the right time to do so now, Yassen was in a vindictive mood and was determined to get rid of Maya.

"Because," Yassen replied nastily, "you are an obnoxious aggravation who also seems to enjoy being a borderline street-whore. Also because you are annoying me and I would be immeasurably pleased if you were to go die in a hole somewhere. Preferably somewhere very far way from me."

Even without registering Maya's devastated expression and shocked silence, Yassen knew he'd overdone it. He frowned at himself, he really didn't have any control over his temper at the moment. It was very unprofessional and unpleasant for all parties concerned.

"Y-you…" Maya seemed to search for the right choice of words, "You cold-hearted son of a bitch!"

Yassen gave a weary, bitter smile.

"So I've been told," He said, "But regardless, my point is the same. Any questions?"

_There I go again, sending in the conversational equivalent of the tactical nuclear strike where all that was needed was a hand grenade…_

Yassen's detached self-reflection was rudely interrupted when Maya tried to slap him. Fast as a snake, he evaded her blow and pushed her a step away from him. It seemed the fun and games were over then.

"Don't touch me!" Yassen said in a quietly savage voice. He knew he was perilously close to hitting Maya back. He also knew he was twice her weight and maybe twice that again her strength. If he hit her, there was a good chance he'd do some serious damage.

Maya's heavily made up eyes narrowed into vicious slits and she clenched her fists.

"Funny," She snarled, her pretty face a mask of feral anger, "You didn't think that way when you were sleeping with me!"

Yassen smiled brightly.

"My mistake."

Maya tried to slap him again. This time, Yassen just wasn't able to restrain himself. He ducked away from her blow and before he'd really thought about it, punched Maya square in the face. Something crunched. It wasn't his hand.

Maya gave a little shriek and stumbled back, hand flying to her face. Yassen saw that his punch had split her top lip and quite obviously broken her nose. He looked at her bloodied face dispassionately, wondering whether to just walk away or to give Maya one last parting shot. In the end, Yassen decided walking away was the best decision, considering how much damage he'd already done.

As he turned his back on Maya, he heard her spit something furiously through her broken nose and blood filled mouth. It was in Spanish and even without translating, he knew it was by no means complimentary.

"¡Usted bastardo el aspirar de martillo! ¡Matanza que coge usted para esto!" She half howled, thinking she was safe in her Spanish language. Yassen halted, hesitated and then walked back to her.

"¿realmente?" Yassen asked dangerously, "¿Y es usted consciente de qué sucedió a la persona pasada que intentó esa línea en mí?"

Maya said nothing, perhaps registering the strain Yassen was feeling in his effort to restrain himself from hitting her again, and much harder this time.

"¿No?" Yassen asked quietly, "El pozo me dejó entonces informarle. La persona pasada que tenía la idea de decirme que iban a matarme terminaron para arriba hacer frente a un extremo desagradable que implicó el elegir entre el revestimiento de mí y un gángster enojado de la mafia. Eligieron a la mafia. ¿Entienda lo que significo?"

Maya looked furious still, but nodded regardless. Assuming she valued her wellbeing, it was the intelligent thing to do. Yassen smiled coldly at her.

"And for the record Maya," he added nastily, "I speak fluent Spanish, so find a new language to insult me in."

With that remark, Yassen turned away and kept walking.

* * *

As if to punish him for his absurdly childish and melodramatic behaviour, it started pouring rain a few minutes later, once Yassen had left the cover of the courtyard in order to wonder the grounds aimlessly. Instantly drenched in the freezing downpour, Yassen shouted one angry curse at the weather before running to the rest of the way to his room.

Using a key card to gain entrance to his private residence, Yassen half stumbled into the joint living room and open plan kitchen. The short sprint had nearly been the end of him, he was barely capable of standing now and his chest burned furiously. He was pretty sure breathing was _not_ meant to be so difficult.

Feeling suddenly furious, Yassen stormed into the dark kitchen to look for a drink. He realized he couldn't remember where he kept his small supply of alcohol. It'd been awhile since he'd back here, and recent events were playing a bit of havoc with his memory.

"Give me a goddamned break," he muttered without any real bite. Rummaging through the cupboards, he found a bottle of Cristall vodka and even better, a packet of painkillers. At least, Yassen assumed they were painkillers. His Italian was really not great; he only spoke the small amount he did because he'd spent so long on Malagosto.

Cheering slightly, Yassen picked both up and walked around the counter into the shadowy living room and wearily sat in a nearby armchair. He ignored the fact that he was soaking wet and soaking the chair. All Yassen concentrated on was downing a small handful of the pills,

_They bloody well better be painkillers…._

And washing them all down with extremely generous draughts of the vodka. It didn't take long for Yassen to feel the effects of the alcohol. He sighed regretfully, took a last sip and put both the painkillers and vodka down. He was just about to sit back and enjoy watching the room spin when he heard a voice.

"Hmm, I wasn't aware suicide was such an enjoyable experience."

Startled, Yassen sat up sharply. The room was very dark; the only light came in through the rain streaked window and even that was a weak, grey light. So, it took Yassen a second to find the speaker. Once he did however, he relaxed.

Sasha Kaminsky had been a friend of Yassen's for a long time. She'd been recruited to Scorpia around the same time as him; only six months after him. She'd been two years younger then him, but they'd befriended one another quickly. Despite the fact they'd drifted apart a little in recent times, they'd been close during their apprenticeships. Occasionally, when they'd been found accountable for some source of chaos, John Rider had laughingly complained they were partners in crime.

"Suicide?" Yassen repeated with a small smile working its way onto his face, "Since when was I committing suicide?"

Sasha gave a nonchalant shrug and looked at him with sarcastic, dark eyes.

"That is the English word for killing yourself isn't it?" She asked, "I'm not confusing my English and Polish again am I?"

Yassen was torn between a frown and small smile.

"Yes and no," he replied, "Yes it's the word, and no you're not getting confused. I still don't understand though, how am I killing myself?"

Sasha stood with an easy grace born of her love for ballet. She'd been a skilled dancer since she was seven years old. She'd even continued dancing upon joining Scorpia, although she'd discovered that more modern styles of dance were more to her taste.

"Well, you just swallowed what looked like enough painkillers to stun a horse. You do realize that they contain Buprenorphine right? You have too many of those and you'll give yourself another respiratory depression. Plus you took the tablets with what, half a bottle of vodka?"

Yassen grimaced.

"Three quarters more like it."

Sasha's eyebrows shot up and away from her dark grey, almost black eyes.

"Wow," She said, sounding almost amused, "And you haven't dropped dead. Amazing."

Yassen shot her a sour look.

"Thanks for that," he replied, "No really, that's exactly the optimism I need."

Sasha gave him a blasé smile, showing off her spotless teeth. Yassen noticed that her right upper canine and first premolar were slightly chipped.

"Not a problem," She replied cheerfully, "That's what I am here for. But seriously, taking that much Buprenorphine with so much alcohol is not a good idea for someone like you. You're still trashed from surgery right?"

Sasha was the only adult Yassen knew who'd learnt a great deal of her English from American TV shows. Amused by it, Yassen went along with Sasha.

"I suppose that's one way of putting it," He said agreeably, "What of it?"

Sasha chewed her bottom lip and studied Yassen thoughtfully.

"Well, you're not dropping dead right now," She muttered, mostly to herself, "So I think you're alright…"

Yassen realized that Sasha was serious. He sighed and considered how he felt overall. He yawned.

"Sasha, I'm fine," He said, "Just tired, and that's not abnormal considering what I've been through."

Sasha brightened a little, her face clearing.

"Actually, Buprenorphine is an opiate. It can induce drowsiness if taken in excess, like you."

For some reason, impending insanity perhaps, Yassen found Sasha's childish focus extremely amusing. He almost laughed openly at the mental image of her face creased in thought.

"Well that's it then," Yassen agreed, "I'm exhausted not because I just recovered from major surgery and not because I was recently shot in the chest, but because I took a few too many painkillers. Happy?"

Sasha shrugged again. This time however, a sly smile crept onto her lips. Yassen suddenly wondered what she was thinking. He knew they weren't as close as they used to be and that Sasha was bound to have changed in the time they'd been apart, but he wondered to what extent.

"Well, my point is that I could possibly provide a little pick-me-up." Sasha said craftily, "_If_ you're game enough."

For some reason, that last line didn't bode well with Yassen. He narrowed his eyes and considered Sasha with new eyes. Something occurred to him.

"Sasha, how did you get in here?" Yassen asked suspiciously. Sudden paranoia struck him, he wondered if Sasha was by any chance, a friend of Julia Rothman's.

Sasha flashed her teeth again in another smile. Her face, mildly attractive despite her unusually large eyes, betrayed no guilt or remorse for more or less invading Yassen's privacy.

"I told a friend I was house-sitting for you," She said cheekily, "So he made a copy of your key card."

Yassen didn't really mind Sasha being in his house unexpectedly (he'd rather her then someone such as Nile), but he made a mental note to have words with whoever had made Sasha's key card.

"I see," he muttered, "And you broke in because…?"

Sasha's smile faded so fast it was like a switch had been thrown. For a long moment, the two of them looked at each other in the dark room with nothing other then the sound of the quietening rain to intrude upon their silence.

"I heard you were nearly killed," She said eventually in a soft voice, "It made me realize that we've barely seen each other in ages. Honestly, how long has it been since we've really had a decent conversation or done anything together?"

Yassen felt a reluctant, uneasy guilt. Sasha was one of the few people in Scorpia he was truly friends with. She was the only woman in Scorpia that he really knew and didn't hate. With another stab of uneasiness, it occurred to Yassen that that was most probably due to the fact that Sash was also the only woman he knew well that he hadn't slept with.

"I think it's been at least a year," Yassen replied, "Although in my defence, I've spent most of this last year on assignments."

Sasha didn't look especially impressed by his excuse.

"Well, anyway, I figured that I should try and talk to you. It would've been really horrible if…" She trailed off, noting the expression on Yassen's face. "What?"

"If I'd died without us getting to see each other again?" Yassen finished in an oddly strained voice. Sasha nodded slowly, wondering if she'd said anything wrong.

"Yes," she replied, "What's wrong with that?"

Yassen looked paler then from a moment before.

"Nothing," he said, half whispering, "But it really only just sunk in. I knew how close I came to dying before, but only in the sense of how much it pissed me off, not in it being something terrifying. "

Sasha tried to look sympathetic, but inwardly she was annoyed. She hadn't come here tonight to make Yassen miserable…

"Maybe this is one of those things that take time?" She suggested, "And until then, I have something. Remember I said I had a pick-me-up?"

Yassen looked grateful for the change of subject. He smiled slightly.

"Yes." He nodded, "If I was 'game' enough. That strikes me as a somewhat suspicious remark to make if you ask me."

Sasha smiled and moved closer. She sat in the armchair opposite Yassen.

"Suspicious?" She laughed quietly, "I was hoping for intriguing."

Yassen shrugged.

"They're more or less the same thing in my books. I'm more interested in what exactly makes your little pick-me-up so…intriguing?"

Sasha looked at him slyly and produced what looked like a compact mirror from her pocket. Yassen felt something heavy and remorseful settle in his chest; Sasha really had changed since he'd seen her last.

"Sasha…" He trailed off, not entirely sure what to say. Sasha looked at him unfathomably, pale hand still curled around her compact. Yassen didn't say anything for a moment, trying to decide on the right words. Eventually though, he was forced to admit he didn't have a clue.

"Sasha, this is not…" He paused and started again, "Look, if this is a joke, it's not particularly funny."

Sasha smiled slightly. The gesture was humourless.

"I'd agree with that. It's actually bloody unfunny if you think about how much quality like this costs."

Yassen frowned at her, that wasn't what he'd meant.

"Sasha-"

She cut him off with a hand motion.

"Look, I'm not asking for you to do anything you don't want to, alright?" She said tiredly, "I just thought you should at least try it. No offence, but you really look like you could use it."

That one threw Yassen slightly. He raised a brow.

"Excuse me?"

Sasha rolled her eyes and handed over her compact.

"Look in the mirror why don't you?"

Yassen ignored her needling tone and opened the mirror. Ignoring the small plastic bag in one half, he glanced at his reflection.

_Well, shit. _

Yassen had never been vain, (something about spending your childhood as an orphan on the streets tended to destroy any airs you might put on) but even so, he had to admit he did not look very attractive at that moment. Whilst his skin was naturally pale, it was looking rather unhealthy at that moment: a pale white-grey more appropriate for a corpse then a living human. His face seemed drawn and he noticed that he had dark shadows under his eyes, a result of many sleepless nights.

"Not good is it?" Sasha asked, watching Yassen carefully.

Yassen sighed and closed the compact. He passed it back to Sasha.

"No, but do you honestly think that me looking under the weather warrants the use of cocaine?"

Sasha took the compact back with a slight scowl. Her dark eyes bored into Yassen's.

"The phrase 'under the weather' is a severe understatement," she said in a hard voice, "You look like a ghost Yassen. Whilst I know what you're thinking, I will tell you right now, I can almost guarantee that what I'm offering will change that for the better."

Yassen could feel misgivings and doubt welling inside him, but he clamped down on them. Suddenly, he really didn't care about logic, common sense or what was 'right'. The prospect of getting away from his rapidly collapsing world was too enticing.

"Fine," He half growled, "Show me then, if you're so supportive of the stuff."

Sasha smirked and produced a straw from her pocket. Using her thumb, she clicked the compact open again.

"As you wish." She laughed before cheerfully emptying half of the plastic baggie of cocaine onto the mirror. She snorted it without hesitation.

Inwardly, Yassen's misgivings momentarily fought free and a small voice in his head asked him exactly what the fuck he was doing. Grimacing, Yassen realized it was a fair enough question. Then, he pushed that train of thought away again.

"That's disgusting." Yassen remarked to Sasha blandly, studying her subtly. The only sign that she was on anything was her dilated pupils. She grinned widely at him.

"To each their own…. Your turn." She held the compact out.

Yassen regarded her proffered hand for a moment. In the darkness of the room, her pale skin seemed to emit a faint glow. He shook his head.

"Not like that. That's disgusting."

Sasha gave a tiny giggle and rolled her eyes.

"Of course, pardon me. Heaven forbid you should do anything unseemly."

Yassen didn't reply, but something in his expression made Sasha zero in on him.

"But you still want it!" She crowed, "That's so funny!"

When Yassen still didn't say anything, Sasha calmed down a little and rummaged in the pocket of her brown leather jacket. She produced a small Velcro pouch and tossed it at Yassen. More out of reflex then anything else, Yassen caught it in midair. Curious despite himself, Yassen looked inside. A syringe.

"Best part of Italy besides the scenery," Sasha laughed, "Syringes are freely available."

Yassen snorted and studied the syringe.

"Of course," he muttered, "It's as if anything of historic importance ever happened in Italy, is it?"

Sasha pouted.

"History is boring," she said cheerfully, "I'm more interested in the future. Do you know how to load yourself up?"

Yassen shot her a sour look.

"Considering the fact that I don't actually make a habit of taking cocaine, no I don't know how to 'load myself up'."

Sasha didn't react to Yassen's tone. She stood and walked around the coffee table to Yassen. He noticed her actions had an edge now in an almost feverishly kinetic manner. She leaned over him and clicked her fingers.

"Give me your arm."

Slowly, Yassen did so. Sasha's fingers were hot yet surprisingly gentle, given the edge to her movements. She turned his arm over, baring the underside of it.

"Stay still, alright?" She said, "It makes it easier."

Yassen pulled him arm back sharply.

"_You_ are not injecting me with anything. I'll do it myself."

Sasha sighed but didn't argue.

"Okay, fine. I'll just show you what to do."

Eyes narrowed and still wary, Yassen slowly stretched his arm out again. Sasha's fingers closed on it again. She pressed down lightly near the crease of his elbow.

"There, in the Cubital Fossa, okay?" She took her hands away, "If you're still planning on going through with this of course."

Yassen smiled in a thin, humourless manner and uncapped the syringe Sasha had given him.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

* * *

Yassen wasn't a man who'd made a habit of drinking to excess. He'd never really found much occasion for it in all honesty. So it was only an approximation on his part that being high on very pure cocaine was like being exceptionally drunk. The only other thing he could describe it as was the time that he'd volunteered to try an untried stimulant drug for field agents, the effect being he hadn't slept for three days straight and hadn't been able to sit still for more then five minutes. That'd been when John had still been alive.

Mildly spellbound, Yassen experimentally waved his hand in front of his face. The image his brain received reminded him of a video with a second time delay: slightly jittery and disjointed. Sasha watched him in amusement.

"It's mad hey?" She laughed, "Like coffee on steroids."

Yassen smiled at that. The motion didn't fell like it fit very well on his face, but it was a smile never the less. He was in no mood to complain. Truth be told, the prospect of any sort of negativity was rather difficult for him to comprehend at that moment.

"Well?" Sasha had put the syringe back in the Velcro pouch and was seemingly considering her compact mirror again.

Yassen shrugged.

"I won't deny it," he replied, "It's better then five minutes ago. I feel somewhat idiotic though."

Sasha gave him a look that was equal parts wry amusement and seriousness.

"Yassen, for people like us the cost of release is often much higher then personal dignity. Just be thankful for this moment."

Sasha's words struck Yassen as very true. He smiled to himself and looking around, found his bottle of vodka again. Whilst he was not in the habit of drinking, tonight seemed as good a time as ever.

* * *

The potent mixture of alcohol, cocaine and Buprenorphine opiates hit Yassen very hard. After about ten minutes, the Russian was forced to admit he was incredibly far gone and that reality had temporarily ceased to exist. That was just fine with him however. That'd been the whole point of tonight, hadn't it?

* * *

Another ten minutes later and Sasha was no better. She had even more vodka then him too. Yassen wondered if she was drinking and taking more cocaine then him because she felt she had more to try and escape from.

* * *

A question occurred to him after a few moments of silently considering his heartbeat.

"Sasha?"

There was a pause. "Yes?"

"What exactly makes our friendship last?"

"It's partly bonding through trauma and partly you haven't slept with me." She sounded vaguely amused.

"I thought that was it."

Another long moment of silence.

"I saw what you did to Maya."

A momentary stab of guilt.

"I didn't intend to hit her. I lost control for a second."

"Everyone's entitled to moments like that. I wasn't blaming you anyway; I am glad you did it."

Yassen's frown as he turns his head to look at where Sasha has sat back in the corner. He himself is stretched out on the couch on his back. The rain had started again, heavier then ever. The staccato rhythm of the downpour seems to match his heart.

"You are?"

Sasha's smile in the shadows.

"Exceedingly. I was jealous of the stupid cow."

Yassen's laughter.

"What is there to be jealous of?"

Sasha's considering expression.

"Well, nothing I suppose. I was more jealous of what she had."

"And what's that? Her looks?"

Sasha's quiet snort.

"No, definitely not. I meant you Yassen, she had you."

Silence.

"Me?"

"No, the other Yassen Gregorovich I know. Yes of course you. The one thing I wanted and Maya had it."

"I'm still having a little difficulty with this…You wanted _me_?"

"And still do."

Yassen's utter confusion. His sitting up sharply and staring at Sasha.

"_Why_?"

Sasha's looking taken aback by the ferocity in Yassen's question.

"Excuse me?"

Yassen's frustrated expression.

"I have never understood it. Why you or any other woman would bother wanting someone like me. I thought women were supposed to be more intelligent then that."

Despite his humorous remark, the seriousness of the situation remains. The drug induced haze began to lift. Reality slid back into existence in its absence.

Sasha smiled slightly.

"I'm fairly certain that when a woman expresses interest in you, you're not meant to question it."

Yassen couldn't help but smile at that briefly.

"You're right, but I'd still like an answer to my question."

"Technically you did not actually ask anything. You just gave a statement with an _implied_ question. Technically speaking of course."

"Sasha, you know what I meant."

Sasha sighed.

"Fine, I'll share the secrets of female thinking. Firstly, you do realize that you are reasonably attractive right?"

Yassen didn't consider the compliment. Instead, he dredged up what little knowledge of celebrities he had for the sake of argument.

"Most people I know say Brad Pitt is attractive and I know that you hate him."

Sasha scowled at him.

"Would you let me finish!" She complained, "But on that point…Well, there are more important things then looks you know."

Yassen still wasn't convinced.

"Fine, I'll let your point on my appearance go," he said in annoyance, "But as to there being more then looks….Not with me there isn't. Unless of course you happen to _like_ my indifference to human life and my tendency to self-pitying depressions?"

Sasha laughed.

"You really don't have a clue. If there's anything that most women love, it's the prospect of being able to 'save' a man from himself."

Yassen inwardly groaned and suddenly wished he was still drifting in the realm of unreality.

"Please tell me that is not the case with you."

Sasha's amused expression gave way to sadness.

"Not exactly. It's just that I have known you for years now, and because of that I know that ever since John died, it's like you don't believe in yourself or anything else anymore. Seeing you like that…"

Yassen felt the uneasy truth behind her words.

"Yes?"

Sasha shook her head.

"Well, it's bothered me more then it should. More then anything, I've just wanted to be able to figure out a way to make you the way you were before John died."

Yassen had known for the last two and a half weeks that his world was slowly falling apart around him, but at that moment he was aware of it in an agonising sense that he hadn't thought possible. It made him begin to fear what waited for him once everything was gone.

Sasha wasn't finished though.

"But that's the thing, it isn't possible. So now I wonder, is it possible for you to start again?"

Yassen shook his head slowly.

"I've had more then ten years to try that. If I haven't been able to do it in that time, I really don't think it's a possibility."

Sasha stood and walked over to sit beside Yassen.

"Then what is there for you?"

Yassen picked up Sasha's hand and considered the question.

"The present moment. Until it ends."

* * *

It was an hour and another load of cocaine later that the beginning of the pain began.

"Yassen, your jeans are vibrating. I think your phone is ringing."

Yassen considered the forlorn pile in the corner of his bedroom that was his jeans. Sasha's green silk blouse sat not far away in much the same manner.

"I don't really want to answer it." Yassen admitted, turning back to regard Sasha's face. Her smile, mere inches away, was tinged with a slight sorrow of the ending moment.

"I think you have to. Otherwise whoever's calling will come looking for you. I'm fairly sure that's not something you want."

Yassen regarded the problem.

"I'll say I was asleep."

Now Sasha looked half exasperated, half amused.

"Considering my presence and the lack of clothing involved, I don't think they'll believe that. Now go answer your phone. I'm supposed to be attending remedial technology in ten minutes anyway."

Trying not to be miserable, Yassen did as Sasha asked.

"_Da?_" Yassen momentarily forgot his English, distracted by a vicious headache he could feel growing.

"Yassen? It's Assad." Despite the speaker's thick accent, the tension in the words was impossible to miss.

"What do you want?" Yassen didn't bother with pleasantries despite his friendship with the Arabic man. People didn't call him unless it was important.

"Where the hell are you?!" Assad demanded, "You were supposed to meet me half an hour ago."

Irritated, Yassen had to bite back his rising temper.

"What do you-"

Then he remembered. He was being forced to talk to the on-site psychologist. The meeting was now.

"_Govno!" _He swore, the Russian obscenity coming easier then the English equivalent, "I forgot Assad but I'll be there in two minutes."

"You better be," Assad growled whilst Yassen hurriedly began pulling on his clothing, "I've been waiting in the cold and rain for you!"

Whilst he wasn't guilty for that, Yassen was annoyed at himself for forgetting his meeting with the psychologist. He wasn't looking forward to it, especially now that he was running late. They'd probably think he was deliberately trying to avoid them and make an enormous issue out of a mistake on his part.

"I said I'd be there in a minute." Yassen growled before hanging up.

* * *

"You seem restless," Assad noted, "Is this meeting bothering you that much?"

Yassen shot Assad a humourless look without breaking his fast pace.

"Yes," He said bluntly, "I think it's pointless in that it'll serve no purpose, even if there is reason for me to be seeing a psychologist in the first place."

"Well at least you're getting it over and done with now," Assad's attempt at placating Yassen failed miserably, "Besides, I've heard that the new psychologist is a sharp bastard. He might actually be of some help."

Yassen didn't say anything in response. Assad watched his friend drum his fingers restively against him leg with an unexplainable concern.

"Before you talk to the psychologist, there's something you should know," Assad said suddenly, "I think it's important."

Yassen looked over at his friend questioningly.

"Julia Rothman was talking to the psychologist today. She wants him to report back to her on everything you say."

Assad left him outside the psychologist's office. Yassen watched the other man walk away, mind already considering the task at hand. Shaking his head, Yassen turned away and walked into the office.

* * *

A spacious, rosily lit room greeted him. Yassen ignored the old fashioned furniture and focussed on the man sitting behind the heavy desk.

Dark hair over a thirty-something year old face shaped by pronounced cheekbones a narrow nose. A subtly cleft chin covered in what looked like two days stubble. The man's thin mouth smiled.

"It's nice to meet you Mr. Gregorovich." The man had an obvious German accent, "Please take a seat if you wish. My name is Haydn Fuller."

Yassen ignored the offer, choosing to stay standing up against the wall. His incoming headache was now accompanied by a twin in his chest.

"You may be interested to know that your reputation precedes you." Haydn Fuller said in a careless tone.

Yassen narrowed his eyes.

"Really?"

Haydn didn't miss Yassen's hostile tone. He gave a sigh and reached under the rectangular glasses he wore in order to rub his eyes.

"You don't plan on being cooperative, do you?"

"I haven't planned to be either cooperative or otherwise," Yassen replied, "Perhaps instead of making groundless assumptions you should stick to your job and just ask whatever questions you need to. We wouldn't want Julia to miss anything important."

Haydn didn't look surprised by Yassen's knowledge. He just laughed shortly.

"I'd wondered if you'd discover Julia's interference. I'm glad you did. It saves us some awkward conversations in the future and I have to admit, I'm intrigued as to why Julia is taking such an interest in you."

Yassen recognised the question in Haydn's tone. He shook his head slowly and crossed his arms across chest.

"If you think you're entitled to that answer, you're not as smart as everyone says."

Haydn narrowed his eyes and leaned forward.

"Mr. Gregorovich, if I were you, I would reconsider your answer. I think you'll find that you will cooperate with me, willingly or not."

Yassen wasn't impressed by the German's threatening.

"I've already played this game with Julia. She's obviously quite desperate if she's sending you in for a second round."

Haydn suddenly laughed. It was a nasty, bitter sounding noise.

"Oh I see now. You think I'm Julia's puppet."

"In my experience, people are either afraid of Julia Rothman, or they reside in her pocket. I'm interested in which category you fall into."

Haydn's smile was borderline feral now.

"I can assure you now, it's neither. Julia Rothman is no friend of mine. That bitch has been trying to get me kicked out of Scorpia since my first day here. I want a part of whatever it is you have that's got her so worried."

Yassen heard the truth in Haydn's words, but he still wasn't prepared to get caught up in a mess like this. Life was complicated enough for him at the moment without playing Julia Rothman's metaphorical chess games.

"As heart-wrenching as your story is, I don't think I'm interested."

Haydn's smile grew slightly and Yassen suddenly realized he'd underestimated this man.

"Alright, forget me for a minute. Let's talk about something else."

Already edgy from the cocaine, Yassen felt his suspicions reach paranoia level.

"Such as…?"

"Tell me Mr. Gregorovich, have you had anything you shouldn't have tonight?"

Yassen stiffened and felt a quick flash of anger.

"I don't know-"

Haydn's eyes flashed, he stood sharply.

"Don't try that shit with me. I can smell whatever it is you've been drinking from here and you're shaking slightly and your pupils are highly dilated. I'm sure that if I was motivated to take your pulse, I'd find it abnormally fast. Plus I happen to know you're well acquainted with Sasha Kaminsky. Shall I go on?"

Yassen reflexively clenched his fists for a moment, considering the fact that he was well and truly backed into a corner here. Then, a solution occurred to him.

"I could have been running."

Haydn smiled and sat again, obviously enjoying the jousting.

"That doesn't explain your pupils or the fact you reek of alcohol. Also, you didn't address the issue of Miss Kaminsky."

Yassen regarded the psychologist flatly.

"I've known her my entire time with Scorpia," he said warningly, "What's your point?"

Haydn leaned back in his chair, impatient now.

"Sasha Kaminsky is a known drug addict. She's been referred to me twice since my appointment in this organization four months ago. My guess is that she was kind enough to celebrate your little reunion tonight by sharing her cocaine. Would I be correct in that assumption?"

Yassen was very tempted to reach across Haydn's desk and stab him with the chrome letter opener he could see. Very, very tempted. However, he managed to ignore his itchy fingers and survey Haydn impassively.

"I understand now. You could tell someone all of this, but you won't because you want to be able to blackmail with it. What do you want?" He demanded.

Haydn didn't hesitate.

"A little information." He replied, "The things is, I love Scorpia but hate Julia Rothman. She knows this and also knows that I'll do just about anything to oppose her. As such, she's done her best to keep me out of the loop and therefore, powerless. However, if I can get information good enough to blackmail her with…"

Yassen nodded slowly, unwillingly impressed by the German's cunning.

"Of course," he muttered, "Knowledge is power."

Haydn gave the smile of a satisfied predator.

"Exactly, Mr. Gregorovich, exactly. Now what can you tell me about an Alex Rider?"

Frustrated by the manner he'd been cornered, Yassen hesitated.

'_I think you mean __**the **__Alex Rider…How many others are there?'_

Haydn frowned at him.

"I'd rather have you as my ally then as my enemy, but I will notify the proper authorities of your drug use if you refuse to talk to me."

Yassen breathed out slowly and folded his arms across his chest.

"Alright then, I'll give you what you want. Alex Rider is fourteen and English."

Haydn Fuller considered it, obviously puzzled.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Think of the name. Alex is John Rider's son."

Realization flickered across Haydn's face. John was still somewhat of a legend in Scorpia.

"Oh I see," Haydn murmured, half to himself, "He's not part of Scorpia."

Yassen shook his head.

"That's correct, but there's a good chance that will change in the near future."

Mitchel was confused.

"What do you mean?"

Yassen paused for a moment; this was a difficult thing to explain. He could say too much or too little if he wasn't careful. Either would prove dangerous if not disastrous. The problem was, he was still out of it and half drunk. Concentrating was not the easiest thing.

"He was there on Air Force One," Yassen said thoughtfully, "Alex I mean. When I thought…knew…I was dying."

Haydn looked intensely curious, greedy for the information that would give him the ability to challenge Julia.

"I knew I was dying, so I told Alex what he needed to know," Yassen continued in a louder voice, "I told him about his Father."

Haydn's face was a conflict of realization and reluctant sympathy.

"He didn't know?!"

Yassen nodded grimly.

"He had no idea that John was what he was. He'd been brought up by his Uncle, Ian Rider, who'd said nothing."

Haydn absorbed all of this, fingers steepled.

"What else did you say to Alex?"

Yassen was deep in thought, caught up in reliving what he'd thought were his final moments. He'd forgotten altogether his hatred of being questioned and analysed.

"I told Alex about Scorpia…I told him to go to Venice…" Yassen trailed off, registering the scheming greediness on Haydn's face.

"You said he might become a part of Scorpia," the German said excitedly, obviously already plotting his first strike against Julia, "What made you think that?"

Yassen smiled to himself, secretly impressed by his own cunning.

"He'll come to Venice; the bait I used, his Father, will guarantee that."

Haydn looked less animated then a moment before and more like a cold, dead statue.

"He'll come to Venice, but that doesn't necessarily mean he'll join Scorpia."

Yassen's smile vanished, face coldly hard and angry.

"He won't have a proper choice!" He spat, "Julia will catch him the same way I did, with his Father. She'll use John to manipulate Alex for her own twisted design. Even if Alex survives that, I know that Julia will kill him afterwards. It's what she does once she tires of something: she disposes of it."

Haydn nodded to himself and then fixed Yassen with an inquisitive stare.

"Alright," he said, "I suppose I'd best do my job as a psychologist now. Is there anything you wish to discuss? Any lasting issues from Air Force One?"

Yassen laughed bleakly, thinking that Haydn had an odd sense of humour.

"Apart from having a half healed hole in my chest, no."

Haydn smiled widely.

"Then I suppose you may go."

Yassen didn't return the smile, already walking away.

"And thankyou very much for the information," Haydn muttered to himself as his office door swung shut, "I'll be putting it to very good use."

* * *

**Well? Love it, hate it, politely tolerate it?? Personally, I'd prefer the first one LOL**

**And just in case you're bored by this story so far..Well, here's a little spoiler: Yassen is about to find out Ash is still alive and what's more, hiding something about John Rider. So, Yassen is going to be paying a little...visit...Down Under to have a nice little chat with Ash ;)**


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